10 Things I Hate About You
by fires have fly-ed
Summary: MimiPOV during "Goodye Love", basically. Songfic. Oneshot. I forgot one of the lines in the '10 Things' poem/song...


**Ah, this is gonna be slightly weird.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Wait, no, I own the story! lol **

The tears that were threatening to spill out of her eyes at any given second were making it hard for her to see. All she knew was that he was nearing her, yelling at her, and she didn't like it. She had been through him yelling at her before, and it never ended well. She always got hurt; whether physically or emotionally, it hardly mattered anymore.

_I hate the way you talk to me_

She idly wiped her eyes with the back of her grubby hand, and suddenly things were so clear: the lush, green trees, the tombstones, his face, full of anger and something she wasn't recognizing…something similar to hurt. He shook his head as he said something crude, something she didn't quite process but pretty much comprehended by his look. His stupid haircut was obnoxiously growing out, buying into the image he had wanted for so long to create; the image that brought him to this point, in one way or another.

_And the way you cut your hair_

He was pushed back by someone then, whoever it was insignificant. She didn't want to picture him driving away, to never come back, but other visions-visions of fear, of the upcoming end, or visions of lost ones-came to her mind if she didn't occupy it quickly enough. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

_I hate the way you drive my car_

She begged him with her eyes to stay a moment longer, to at least let her steady herself and not be so disoriented, but he just gave her his angry, condescending stare and walked away. There was something in his stare that lingered in her mind, but she shoved it away without a second thought.

_I hate it when you stare_

She hated him, and she knew it. All the crazy thoughts that were running through her head as she exited and headed down a street-alone-proved how much she hated him. She hated his whole stupid image, the way he spoke with defiance, everything.

_I hate your big dumb combat boots_

She hated how he could always suspect what she was going through; loss, because he had felt it, pain, because he had felt it, despair, because he had felt it! All the junk they'd both had to go through alone was eating at her inside, and whatever they did together, happily or empty and cross, was making her head spin…things were spinning as she began to ascend the stairs to her apartment.

_And the way you read my mind_

Nearing her apartment, full of painful experiences and the haunting memories, she ditched her plan to enjoy herself and headed up the stairs, towards loss of hope, towards his apartment.

Imagining what despair was ahead of her, waiting for her, calling to her upstairs, she hesitated and turned around. She caught one glimpse of her limp, black, disheartening clothing, and took many breaths-pants, really-to not let the room spin out of control any longer, any faster, spiraling towards her disastrous end.

_I hate you so much, it makes me sick;_

_It even makes me rhyme_

She knew, as she braved the staircase once more, that he didn't trust her, didn't believe her, and what she was doing hadn't been helping too much-it had really just been proving his false point accurately. She also knew that her last goodbye would mean everything to her, if she just got it out…one more last goodbye…another one after this would kill her, it would literally _kill her_, maybe even this one would.

Well, who said that _he_ wasn't lying, too? Who said that _he_ wasn't cheating on _her_, with some little harlot he'd found in the city? Oh, he was! She _knew_ he was! He had been lying to her, lying to her the whole time. She was just some outlet he could use to get over his grief, to escape his pain…

_I hate it when you lie_

Then again, what she was thinking, what she saying to herself, made her sound similar to _him_. The way she was blankly falsely accusing him of something that he didn't do, would never do, not if she were lucky, that is. He was always holding her, always reassuring her, always laughing with her. He was honest, if nothing else. If stubborn and overly tenacious, he was honest-when he was with _her_, at least. He had told her things he had sworn he'd never even told his best-friends, his exes, his parents, his siblings. He told her serious things, depressing things, and she made him free from anxiety. She had told him everything, her life story, how she had gotten to where she was, the whole nine yards. And yet, as much as they trusted each other, they weren't _too_ deep and dark; they had _fun_, they were normal, they laughed together…frequently. If it were a good day for her, every little thing he _said_ to her would make her laugh. Even if now, the memories sparked more tears at the backs of her eyes, it had made her laugh then, and that was all that mattered. It was like getting over someone, and then flipping through pictures of them: You couldn't throw away the pictures of anybody smiling; you were happy then, and if you aren't now, then why ruin more? Why end-up regretting things when the whole point in life was to _not_ regret?

_I hate it when you make me laugh_

She felt sicker and sicker by the second; she hated regret, she really did, and what she was about to do, she knew she'd later regret. But the thing was, she'd regret it oh so much more if she didn't go up there, if she didn't at least _try_ to reason with him, reason with truth nobody wanted to hear. And if regret was the enemy, she realized through tears, then a lot was worse than a little.

_Even worse when you make me cry_

"How could you let her go?" she heard through a door that had been haphazardly closed.

"You just don't know!"

She sighed, and grabbed the railing with all her might with her left hand, clenching her right fist at her side…anything to not let go, of course, to not start screaming apologies for things she didn't even do. And she wasn't stubborn, she wasn't really too bitter over anything anymore, save the death earlier in the week, but she wasn't about to give in, either. She didn't want to kick and scream, but worse, she didn't want to sob, to loser her dignity. She couldn't think about the times he'd tried to help her and then abandoned her, all in good respect and reason, because she _hated_ it; it was just enough to trigger her losing control.

_I hate it when you're not around_

She'd abandoned her plans to help herself and him out at first, after the breakup, or whatever you wanted to call it, but she had gone back to trying a little while later, more for him then herself eventually. Then it got colder, end of discussion. It was getting harder, slowly, every second of everyday, and without him there to help her, what was the point anymore?

_And the fact that you didn't call_

But no! It wasn't like that, at least it shouldn't be, not with her! Her personality and attitude was supposed to go against all odds, to prove all ridiculous points and clichés, to…survive. She _wanted_ to hold on, to stay, but only if he were there with her every step of the way. And it made her _sicker_.

_But mostly, I hate the way I _don't _hate you_

The door flung open, and she stood up a little straighter.

_Not even close_

"You heard?"

_Not even a little_

"Every word."

_Not even at all_


End file.
